Mysteries of A Chosen
by Texcatlipoka
Summary: Sets off from epi. 1. When an all too well known figure turns up the day before the podrace and makes Watto an offer he can't refuse, the Jedi will be forced to unravel the secret of the False Chosen to survive, and Anakin is in the thick of it.
1. Change of circumstance

**This is my first Star Wars Fanfiction, so be nice. **

**Also, I know most of the character names but for some I'm not certain how they're spelt. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. **

**First questions- the funny "toytarian" with wings in the Phantom Menace is called Watto... isn't he? And they are in Mos Eisley and not Mos Espa, aren't they? **

**The numbers at the start aren't in credits. It's some other weaker currency. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of the characters or locations, because George Lucas did it all. **

"Forty-thousand..."

"No, it's too close..."

"Rearrange then. Fifty, thousand..."

"..."

"Sixty..."

The toytarian wavered in his flight. Such an offer didn't come by every day. But then, the chance to win a Naboo spacecraft-

"Sixty-five. You can't turn down this offer Watto." The tall man leaned a little closer. Something in his nature gave him immediate control of the argument. Watto knew he was right.

He grunted in consideration.

"Why would you offer so much for one child slave?"

"Its important."

How could he control it this well? If he wanted the chain of discussion to end, it ended. If he wished to persist in it, so it did.

Undeterred, looking almost uninterested in fact, he leaned back and stood with his hands loosely on his hips. His eyes were fearfully penetrating, though he didn't seem to be attempting that feat consciously.

"What can you do, Watto? This is an offer you can't refuse..."

"Yes, yes I know, but-"

"So why do you delay?"

"When will you be leaving" the Toytarian ventured finally, "A week, a few days maybe..."

"Tomorrow. As soon as I can. Now strike the deal."

Watto's hand extended cautiously, almost fearfully.

It was grabbed before his arm was straight.

They shook hands very briefly.

"Bargain struck. You can pick him up here right away tomorrow."

"Good."

And with that he swung nimbly on his heel, and left like nothing

had happened, or ever would. Watto watched until the last of his heavy blue coat disappeared beyond the threshold of the shop entrance.

Some miles away, just within sight of the town, there was another stranger. Of course a place like Mos Eisley was blessed with them, but this one was particularly unusual. Few wore such deep black robes in a climate like this. Partially shaded from the twin suns by the bulk of his ship. Holding the communication device horizontally, he hit a button. A similarly clad figure appeared in hologram.

"You called, Master?"

"Things are moving faster than I had anticipated. There is a new player sitting to the table. We must act immediately."

The robed figure knew well his master's voice; this was nothing short of urgency, which he rarely expressed. It was serious...

"The ship?"

It was obvious what he referred to.

"No. Things have moved on. The Queen is not first priority anymore."

"Who is?"

"The boy."

"Slave boy? What threat is he?"

The hologram's face contorted into something resembling a smile beneath the hood.

"More than you could know. Act quickly, my apprentice, as soon as you see an opportunity, however slight. I do not wish to lose them here."

"As you command, my master."

"You've _what?" _

Anakin couldn't believe it. He stared dumbly up at the flapping Toytarian.

"You realise, Watto, you are passing down a star-ship." Qui-Gon, who had just spoken, looked as though his usual calm, collected demeanour was quickly evaporating.

Watto, sighed, looking perhaps even sad. "For sixty-five thousand I could buy a better ship and service it for a year. Business is business." He added the last line as a feeble attempt at conclusion, but Anakin was having none of it. He couldn't believe he could be taken away on the day of the race.

"But you can't do this! Qui-Gon, do something." He found his eyes were bleary; he didn't care. Anything to make Watto reconsider.

Qui-Gon looked down, deeply apologetic, "I'm so sorry, Ani. Watto's already struck the deal, he can't go back on it."

The Jedi looked back to Watto, "when will he be picked up?"

Anakin was incredulous, "I'm being taken away. What about Mom?" He really was crying now.

"He should be here." Said Watto, his rough voice almost solemn.

There was a long moment of pause. Anakin was stunned, paralysed by such a turn of events, that he could think of nothing to say in his defence, not that it would have made any difference if he could: his throat had closed up.

Perched on the counter, he put both his hands over his face, rocked himself gently and burst fully into sobs and tears. He squeezed himself tighter, becoming as small as he could, as though he could become so small that it wouldn't matter what had happened.

He felt strong arms wrap around him, and recognised the hair of Qui-Gon's beard brushing his face. He didn't stir. He was held briefly- far too briefly, for he would have preferred to have been held forever- then the arms unravelled and he heard Qui-Gon recovering himself, and the coarse flapping of Watto's wings barely keeping him adrift. It must all be over, he decided.

_Emotion can wait, now you must think. _

These were the thoughts Qui-Gon repeated to himself over and over as he left. He had learnt so much in years of being a Jedi, that he thought he must be capable of any situation, but no matter what the problem was this had always been a recurring theme. Emotion, left unbridled, easily conquered reason.

They were stranded on an outer rim planet, in desperate need of reaching the Republic Capital but now with no way of even making this possible.

He glanced up briefly, looking over a blue-coated before him. Padme and the Gungan were waiting nearby. He made his way quickly over to them, knowing Padme would be less than pleased that her disapproval had proved to be well directed.

If only he had looked back after the blue-coated shoulder. He would have recognised the face of Anakin's buyer immediately.

**End of Chapter 1**

**I think that was a bit slow for an opening, but I promise you it will pick up lots more pace in the next chapter and hopefully for the rest of the story. Correct me if I've got anything wrong. **


	2. Leaving in a hurry

**Sorry for being so slow updating this, but with Christmas there's been an obvious complication. Could everyone please review for each chapter- even if that's just a sentence or two so I know you're still reading. **

**I'm not sure what the currency looks like on Tatooine, so **

**I' m going with paper money for the story. **

Anakin was so shaken by what had happened, by how quickly the future changed its shape, that he didn't look up when he heard heavy boots through the threshold.

He gasped when strong arms picked him off the counter and stood him up. The action flung every thought and emotion twice round his head, and he staggered.

The floor was the only place to look that wasn't spinning and blurred.

He heard voices, but they seemed a great distance away.

"You got the money?"

That could only be Watto.

"Here."

Some pause, then the same voice.

"I'm not hanging around. I've got places to be."

A brief rustle of notes, then he was nudged a little forcefully, and walking in that direction.

Qui-Gon explained twice through what had happened to the others, Padme and Jar-Jar, but that matter was irrelevant. They still had no way of getting to Courascant- every day they spent away from their goal was equivalent to accepting the deaths of more Naboo people.

"So will you call the Queen, and tell her what's happened?" Asked Padme. Qui-Gon noted that she felt a sort of righteous indignation that her warning about trusting their faith had turned out right.

Qui-Gon shook his head in reply, "better that I explain this face to face."

"BYE Ani."

The stupid Gungan Jar-Jar had called out. Qui-Gon held no grudge, but it had been foolish. He had recognized Anakin the moment they passed him, and the man with the heavy blue coat quickly after.

Anakin had looked round and waved briefly, but the man hurried him on down an alley.

With a gesture to "stay there," Qui-Gon stole quickly away in pursuit.

As they walked, Anakin had been in a state of almost semi-consciousness, as his mind struggling to deny, to reason out of existence the new turn of events that had ruined everything; every chance he had ever had.

But when the likeable Jar-Jar had waved, and he had seen the wise, gentle Qui-Gon and the breathtaking Padme, everything to the smallest detail and wrestled its way back to the foreground of his mind.

He turned to run away; the man's arm flashed out in fearful anticipation, grabbing his shoulder and turning him back. He tried again, and was no more successful.

This was completely unfair. All the injustices this unknown man had done bombarded his head, and he struggled to force them out with some sort of answer.

"Why have you done this? Evil _bastard! _You knew, didn't you?! You knew!"

No answer, which was the cruelest thing the man could have done, far more so than a spiteful answer.

He struggled to get away again, but the man's hand was like an iron vice.

"Let go of me! I wanna se my Mom first. We can't leave until I've seen her!"

The formation in words of all these thoughts was driving him hysterical.

"Why d'you have to do this _now? Why Now?!" _

The lack of answers was somehow calming as well as cruel; not a pleasant calm, a forced, instilled calm. As silence continued to follow each answer, his questions became more and more immaterial.

"Why are we going so fast?"

As if in reply (though Anakin decided he wasn't intended that way), they stopped suddenly.

The back of the man's head tilted upward very slightly, suggesting a moment of thought and decision. Then, just as quickly, they were moving again.

"Where are we going anyway? C'mon you must answer _something." _

Finally, Anakin submitted to the most obvious question imaginable. He realized that in refusing to answer him, this man had done the most efficient thing he possibly could have.

"What's your name?"

"M'kael."

The speaking of even a word gave Anakin at least a tiny strand of connection to M'kael- they both now knew the other's name. But at that moment, M'kael, drew a death-stick from the inside of his coat, lit it and put it to his lips.

Anakin shivered. He had seen them before in Watto's shop, and they were never nice people. Most looked crazed. He couldn't help wondering what sort of a person his newest owner would be.

At that moment, so many things happened at once. His shoulder was released, leaving it numb. M'Kael stood perpendicular to him, facing down an alley.

His expression was so casual and relaxed, with the death-stick still between his lips, and he had moved to the point so fluently to avoid that flash of red that had spun out from the alley, that he must have predicted it.

With his prediction correct, he faced the man who had stepped out from the alley.

Dressed entirely from black, only his head was visible as he lowered his hood. Fiendish tattoo's in red covered his entire face, and horned penetrated his bald head. He wore lenses in a deathly shade of red- or they may have been his normal eyes.

And most worryingly, his right hand carried a thrumming red laser-sword.

**End of Chapter two**

**Anakin calls them Laser Swords doesn't he? I don't usually leave cliffhangers like that but this chapter would have become too bulky if I'd kept writing. Remember to R&R. **


	3. Confrontation

**Chapter 3. I hope things are starting to pick up. Anyone guessed whom our blue-coated companion M'kael is yet? He's not from the saga, so you wouldn't. Will everyone reading ****please ****try and remember to review for each chapter. I've enabled anonymous reviews now, so there's really no excuse… **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of its characters. **

"Looking for something?"

M'Kael's demeanor of calm was so powerful that passers-by barely seemed suspicious. Quite opposed to an adversary, M'kael spoke to this stranger as though he were a butler he enjoyed making fun of.

He took another puff of the death-stick.

The fierce man stepped forward, leaving barely a foot between the laser-sword and M'kael- but still said nothing.

"Not a conversationalist, then?" M'kael took another puff, totally composed in the face of a lethal weapon; in fact only vaguely acknowledging its existence.

The blade slashed out suddenly, taking the end off the death-stick.

M'Kael, who had not flinched and remained unfazed, took the butt out of his mouth and looked at it with mild disapproval.

He frowned. "Do you know how much these cost?"

"Enough with this!" Came a fierce reply. M'Kael seemed satisfied at forcing a resort to words.

"Step aside." he finished coldly. M'Kael didn't move.

The tattooed man was lightning fast; but M'kael moved faster than was humanly comprehensible. Anakin knew he didn't brag when he acknowledged himself as having the quickest reflexes and reaction time of any human he knew about. But M'kael moved, reacted, changed his stance so fast that to the human eye he appeared to do it in sync with his enemy.

The red lightsaber had come up; M'kael had stepped back. It came whirling down, and M'kael had been well clear.

Every single atom in the universe appeared to change its rhythm as the fight began, taking on a whole new level of pace and vitality. All around people, human and alien, stopped to watch the glowing beams of light embrace in a dance of death.

For M'kael had a laser-sword as well now- it seemed to have appeared in his right hand for the speed of the draw.

M'Kael lunged in. The red blade flashed out, ripping open a cut in his cheek, but M'kael came on unhindered. The attacker moved aside from the lunge with less than an inch to spare, but their left shoulders caught, and with the full power of M'kael's pounce they both hit the ground.

M'kael twisted in the air, landed on his right shoulder and rolled back to his feet, nimbly as a cat, and struck a downward blow at his floored opponent.

A flash of red blocked, and the attacker leapt back to his feet, putting space between them.

M'kael was smiling in the face of death, seeming almost as daemonic as his attacker with the blood oozing from his cheek. He was _laughing. _

Anakin was rooted to the spot by a boiling compound of thrill, fear and adrenaline-pumped intrigue.

There were no words; the battle proper began less than a second subsequent to the attacker's rising.

The speed was impossible. Anakin desperately tried to follow the path of the leaping red and blue blades. They appeared to strike out everywhere at once, contesting with each other, each making the other look slow and clumsy in comparison as they swung and slashed and jabbed and thrust, and Anakin, five feet away, thought he could almost feel the terrible heat of battle emanating from these two insurmountable foes.

And amidst it all, face drenched in blood, M'kael laughed for the rush of the fray.

Suddenly, everything changed once again, and with equally staggering speed. When the blades had been spinning amongst themselves for less than a minute, there was a loud shout from behind him.

Qui-Gon's voice. The thrill of battle drained in a second, Anakin spun to watch the wise Jedi rush forwards, laser-sword drawn and humming green.

Somehow M'kael's adversary saw Qui-Gon through the midst of their myriad of blades. With expert skill he parried a blow, parried another, then rammed out his hand, blasting back his adversary without making physical contact- it could only be the Force.

But M'kael landed on the back of his shoulders and flipped back onto his feet with flawless and effortless agility. His left hand carried a blaster, which had appeared with similar speed to the lightsaber, and which he turned to aim. All in two seconds flat. Enough to allow the assailant to escape.

By the time Qui-Gon reached M'kael's side he was ten feet away, then- breathtakingly- leapt twenty feet upwards and twenty-five feet forward. His spectacular jump dropped him onto a small sandstone house, which seemed to cringe beneath him, before he dropped easily off the other side into the street beyond.

The entire occurrence, from the tattooed man's appearance to his swift withdrawal, could not have lasted more than three minutes.

Anakin heard a hiss, which could only be the sound of

Laser-swords retreating, for it was so unified with their hum while they were at work.

He made to approach them. M'Kael glanced at him side on and motioned for him to stop. He obeyed fearfully. Qui-Gon and M'kael talked quietly for less than ten seconds more, then moved their conversation swiftly into a nearby saloon.

The street was almost deserted, leaving Anakin alone and shaken by all that he had just seen- but particularly M'kael. He had obeyed so fearfully for a reason. When the blue-coated man had glanced his way, Anakin had just glimpsed his bloodstained cheek, and the truth of sight was impossible to deny.

Where there should have been a wound, there was none.

**End of Chapter 3**

**I don't care how many times I need to say it. Please, please, please, please, please R&R. **


	4. Aftermath

**Next chapter will conclude events on Tatooine, and perhaps be the voyage as well.**

**So everyone knows, I expect this will be my longest story yet, spanning all three of the prequel episodes. Could someone tell me if there's a 20 chapter maximum limit? **

**As always, if I've misspelled any names please tell me. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or any of the locations, characters or alien monsters. **

**I don't understand why I change the disclaimer every time. **

Qui-Gon was barely suppressing his surprise as M'Kael led him through the entrance to a saloon.

Just inside, by the doorway, they stopped, looking as though they were waiting for someone weak to leave, whom they could rob. M'Kael, leaning against the wall, took a death-stick from his pocket and lit up.

"What are you doing here? Who was that?" Qui-Gon kept his voice calm, but he was aware that Anakin had been left outside.

"Business to deal with." He nodded out the door. "Fancied an attendant. And to the tattooed guy? Never seen him before. More to the point, Qui-Gon, what are _you_ doing here?"

Qui-Gon leaned close. M'Kael was more irritating than anyone else he knew.

"Let's not play games M'Kael. I don't resent taking over your mission to Naboo, but you aborted at the last minute for a reason."

M'Kael took the death-stick out of his mouth. "Like I said, business. An opportunity. So, what_ are _you doing here?"

"We ran into… complications…-"

M'Kael nodded his understanding.

"-And the queen's ship was damaged in the escape. We are stranded here until we can find repairs."

"And that's why you were gambling for a slave? I see." M'Kael grinned and took another deep puff of death-stick. "You are becoming more like me every day."

Qui-Gon knew better than to make an insulting retort. Anger rarely solved anything. "He was going to win us the parts we need as well."

"So you were gambling for your ship as well?"

At this note M'Kael became more serious- at least, enough so to resemble a man who understood there was actually a problem. Reaching into his coat he produced a pocket book stuffed with notes and passed it to Qui-Gon.

The older Jedi leafed through it, surprised for the second time since their meeting.

"Where did you find this much money?"

"The Council has more money than they like people to know. I spent half, but there should be enough for ship parts."

Qui-Gon, lost for the briefest second in his surprise, came back to his senses and quickly said, "you realize that Anakin is still out there."

"I know. He's probably gone by now, in fact. No worries though, I know where he's heading."

He passed it off so casually that Qui-Gon could not doubt it. You didn't spend a huge sum on a slave that would be illegal on your home planet, and then allow their escape.

Qui-Gon moved on to his final point. "Your attacker was extremely skilled, M'Kael. You should be careful if he's after you." He dropped his voice. "I think, he could only have been a Sith Lord."

M'Kael took the final puff of his death-stick, and dropped the butt. "I did notice. I was, in fact, actually fighting him. And your point is immaterial. Firstly, I can beat anyone. Secondly…"

M'Kael stood up straight at this point, and the motion carried with it a sense of conclusion to their rushed conversation.

"Secondly, I don't think he's after me."

"Then whom?"

M'Kael was halfway through the door. "Anakin. It should be obvious, since there was no-one else with me."

Qui-Gon made to speak, but the sudden seriousness in M'kael's manner, and his eyes, stopped him. "I'm not playing cat and mouse all over the galaxy with this man. It started here; it ends here. Don't follow, Qui-Gon- he mustn't have any incentive to run again."

And M'Kael was gone through the door.

Barely ten minutes walk away, crouched on a balcony, the dark-robed, tattooed man waited, patiently and silently. He was quite a big man, but squatting down he could just hid his full body behind the balcony wall while still having enough height to peek over when he needed to.

The boy could return here in minutes or hours- he had no way of knowing which- but he _would_ return. Not even a slave would leave without saying goodbye

For the sake of his master's orders, he would make it a brief goodbye indeed.

He heard a cry, and peeked over carefully.

False alarm.

Then he heard a beep. The noise took him a little off-guard, since his ears were searching outward and fighting above the din of everyday hustle and bustle, and this sound came from almost within his ears.

But it was his communication device. His brief shock over, he hit the button. The cold, unrelenting voice of Master Sideus.

"Change of plans, Maul. Return to your ship immediately."

"What is the issue?"

"M'kael is there, so you told me when you last reported. It is too much risk."

Maul got a little angry with this, but kept it from his voice. "With respect, Master, I am capable of defeating him."

The voice in his ear continued uncompromising, "This is not a debate, my young and unwise apprentice. M'Kael was never meant to have been drawn into this. Leave immediately."

That decided, Maul had no other option. To question Master Sideus' word was blasphemy. With a final peek over the balcony, he stood up in a black flurry of robe, and made effortlessly away.

**End of Chapter 4 **

**R&R everybody. **


	5. Leaving for good

**Another very talkative chapter- I hope I'm still keeping it interesting without much happening. There will be stuff happening soon. **

**My updating speed has slowed down- sorry, that's school for you. It'll probably stay that way. **

**Here's a point for debate- should the name of our blue-garbed warrior be spelt with one capital, "M'kael," or two, "M'Kael?" **

**Remember to R&R. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. **

So the heartfelt goodbye, which M'kael had gone to so much effort to avoid, happened anyway. M'kael and Qui-Gon, arriving just moments after the unknown withdrawal of that robed figure, Darth Maul, had found Anakin in the arms of his mother.

M'kael had had no wish to be involved. He had long ago realized that he felt no sadness whatsoever for going to new places and leaving familiar ones behind. To add his faked sympathy would have been a mistake. Besides, he had no wish to lengthen the engagement.

He felt fiercely hurried. Why he should be, apart from as a side effect of his long-awaited discovery, he didn't know. But he trusted his instincts.

And the goodbye, for all its solemnity, had shown him one thing. Anakin was not spineless- far from it. That, and his midi-chlorian count, was proof enough for him.

Qui-Gon had left to say goodbye, briefly, also. M'kael knew he felt affectionately towards the boy, but it was still a further delay.

After minutes, Qui-Gon came out the house (they had all retreated into it for privacy) and stood next to M'kael, who leaned in familiar fashion against a wall, arms folded, void of all emotion, except, if it counted, mild boredom.

Qui-Gon, on the other hand, looked deep in thought; he glanced sideways at M'kael briefly, then looked up without really gazing, as he tended to when his mind was occupied.

Finally he said, "he's different."

"He is."

Neither man had any need to give a name- they both knew who they spoke of. M'kael had anticipated the coming questions from the moment of Qui-Gon's arrival.

"You have seen his midi-chlorian count. He could be no other, M'kael. You must see this."

M'kael nodded, refusing to become serious, "I see it, Qui-Gon. I am no fool. And you wish to see him trained as a Jedi."

"I would," Qui-Gon confessed, "he is the only one who could bring the force to balance."

"What knowledge do we have that the force is out of balance," M'kael countered, "For all our skills with the Force, the Order, everyone in the universe, in fact, know almost nothing about it."

To this, Qui-Gon had no answer, nor would he have used it if he had one: it would be pointless to expand on such a concept. M'kael's point was valid enough, but Qui-Gon could feel the change happening in the very core of his bones.

So could every Jedi alive. So also, most probably, could

M'kael.

"But that isn't your concern at the moment, is it Qui-Gon."

"No," Qui-Gon admitted. "You will tell him about yourself. He has a right to know."

His words had no been meant as a command, more as a request- Qui-Gon had expected M'kael to laugh at them. Instead he was strangely silent.

Then he said simply, "I will tell him by the time we reach Courascant. He would find out of his own initiative if I didn't."

Finally, Qui-Gon admitted his final question, "This isn't a coincidence. M'kael, why did you buy the chosen one? What use is he to you?"

"What use is he to _you_, then?"

"He could have won us parts for our ship," said Qui-Gon immediately, "and he could have been trained. His training, I think, is the Jedi Order's most pressing concern of this generation. Of its existence."

At this M'kael did smile, perhaps with genuine humour. "You always were a renegade, Qui-Gon. You break the rules when you need to."

As if to equal himself on this playing field, M'kael lit up an illegal death-stick before continuing.

"He's too old to be trained. You know this. So I presume you will take him as your Padawan, and young Obi-Wan will be forced to face the trials prematurely."

"That is what I would have done." Said Qui-Gon gravely, watching Anakin emerge slowly from the house, his mother Shmi closely behind. "But it seems now the situation has changed."

"It has," M'kael confirmed, observing with disinterest mother and son's last hug, "but the force has a sense of humour. They can change again."

Finally, with his standing up straight in his own manner, that seemed to conclude any conversation, he said, "I am playing you Qui-Gon. When we arrive in Courascant I will need him little more than a few days. Then he will be freed."

Abruptly he turned on his heel, leaving Qui-Gon believing he had something more to say. But with M'kael's effortless movements, and his simple presence, the matter was as concluded for then as it ever could have been.

For Anakin, his first adventure was a little for a disappointment.

It was true that he missed his mother dearly, from the moment she was out of sight, with the knowledge that he would probably never see her again.

But to travel away from Tatooine, the lonely desert planet, had been a dream he had always held close to him, hoping that somehow it may happen.

And now it had, but his hopes didn't seem fulfilled.

They had walked almost as hurriedly as they had before the horned attacker's arrival (he had almost forgotten about it even happening), and in seemingly no time he had found himself at Mos Eisley South Space Port. It wasn't different; it hadn't change to celebrate his exit from this fruitless world. It was just as bustling, crowded and mundane as ever.

M'kael's ship was one of the biggest, and far more elegant than any around it. The sun glinted off its polished metal surface, creating a majestic glare that disguised its true shape. But from the way the wings curved outward, Anakin thought distastefully that it had the appearance of a species of Tatooine plague insect.

They had gone on board quickly, and started the engines immediately. The barely audible hum had furthered Anakin's vision of it as an insect.

Yet it had taken off easily, as though it were weightless, and M'kael steered it so effortlessly that he could maintain his bored expression at the same time.

And then they had hit the atmosphere- hardly the experience Anakin had expected. Rather than searing flames at the windows and heavy jostling, the star-ship, with its top-of-the-line technology, had sailed through as though it were empty sky.

Then, with a blow a little like a hammer to the chest, Anakin had realized that half an hour- such a small time span- had put thousands of miles between him and the only place he had ever known.

Still no words spoken. Quarter of an hour later M'kael had remarked uninterestedly that they were entering hyperspace- again Anakin's body had tensed subconsciously for a thrill, and again there was nothing. Just a slight jostle as the ship accelerated to far beyond the speed of light.

Another quarter of an hour- M'kael at the controls and Anakin sitting uncomfortably in the chair beside him- saw M'kael mumble to him that he needed to "change," accompanied by a brief gesture.

Anakin had found the clothes in the changing room M'kael had pointed too- the ship was very big and had a variety of rooms. This was the first real thrill that Anakin got out of leaving his home.

The clothes were a navy blue, laced with gold coloured wire, and looked very expensive. They were also exceedingly stiff and tight fitting, and by the time Anakin had forced on the black shoes- largely hidden by the trousers- he felt somewhere between a scarecrow and a stuffed animal. He couldn't deny that his simple, loose fitting old clothes were much preferred, and he left them there reluctantly.

But these were foreign clothes, and that sent a tingle of excitement and anxiety through his spine. For the first time in his short life he had truly integrated with the outside world.

He went back to sit by M'kael, feeling quite proud of himself in these new clothes, his head held high. But then, in a manner Anakin immediately expected would become customary, M'kael surprised him with a question when he had been least prepared for it.

And that was the first proper conversation they ever had- and the most memorable.

**End of Chapter 5 **

**Just pointing out that I think they do mention in the episodes that hyperspace actually is light-speed, but I know (and I researched it once), that to achieve realistic interstellar travel you would have to go far faster than the speed of light, which, by the way, is roughly 186,000 miles per second, or 5.9 trillion miles per year. There's some useless information. **

**R&R.**


	6. Return to Courascant

**Please ****try to review once for each chapter. Say anything from a word to a novel, but just so I know you've read the latest chapter. The end of this chapter is where things could start getting interesting. Remember this is going to span all three of the prequel episodes (and perhaps even into the original episodes!), so at some point I'm going to all but skip ten years.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.**

"How many bones have you broken?"

The question was so sudden, and so out of the blue, that Anakin could have laughed, had it come from anyone else. But M'kael's powerful eyes held him to the question.

He stammered, off-guard for such a query and considering whether it could be some sort of trick. But through the simple power of his eyes and posture alone, M'kael put through that there was meaning behind it.

"When I was in a podrace, six months ago, I… well… I moved too fast and crashed. I dislocated my left shoulder, snapped the shoulder blade and broke three ribs."

"What were the medical costs?"

"Four thousand, three hundred."

"Watto must have collapsed against his desk when he received that invoice."

"He almost did. He was really angry."

Anakin winced at the memory. Few people had seen a Toydarian in such a fit of rage. To be fair, he had been angrier at the loss of the pod than the medical fee, but he decided to leave that bit out.

There were several moments of the uncomfortable silence that seemed to natural accompany conversation with M'kael, then he managed to say,

"Why are you interested?"

M'kael sighed then- not sad, or mournful, but delivered in the same casual, mildly bored tone that M'kael seemed to favor- yet it was still a sigh, and Anakin couldn't help but be inwardly surprised at it.

Then he replied, "I've broken most of the bones in my body. I've received first degree burning, slashes, stabbing, severe bruising," he grinned, "and just about any other type of injury imaginable.

His hand traced the skin of his left cheek, and Anakin pictured the rivulets of blood that had flowed there just hours before.

"You probably want to know who I am. That's it. When the tattooed psycho appeared on Tatooine… that's the man I am."

The words were not expertly prepared, but M'kael's tone conveyed them in such a way that they answered a hundred questions at once… And Anakin felt he could follow M'kael everywhere until the end of his life, and still no nothing about him more relevant than that.

But a thought occurred to him.

"But…" He felt the need to address him here, but was very conscious of being a slave, and wasn't sure how to go about it.

"But you had a laser sword," he said finally, forgetting to address,

"Very observant…"

"Were you a Jedi once? Did you quit?"

"I am Jedi."

These three words were spoken with simple meaning, but Anakin was incredulous. He pictured Qui-Gon, the noble, kind, wise old man who seemed to know so many things with which he could aid you.

M'Kael seemed neither kind nor noble, and in relation to Qui-Gon he seemed the opposite, as though he knew something which would ruin you if it were spoken aloud. Putting this into coherent thought unnerved him, and he found himself stammering…

"But, you smoke…"

"Lots of people smoke."

"You're not wearing the robes."

M'Kael glanced at him side on, and Anakin felt quite humiliated by the condescending gaze.

"I suppose that decides everything, doesn't it? Besides, they are so uncomfortable." Then he muttered, more to himself, "they are not so great an organization as people believe."

Silence again. "Why did you buy me?" asked Anakin suddenly.

M'Kael gave a very slight smile of knowing.

"I only need you for a day, then you are free." he replied, tantalizingly vague. But before Anakin could inquire further, a quiet buzzer went off, M'kael flipped a switched and Courascant hung in the clear black sky before them.

It was a grand sight, for Anakin who had never properly left the ground, but just like everything else, did not live up to expectations.

Courascant and the Republic had, for as long as he could remember, been a distant paradise. He had pictured towering cities of whitewashed buildings set ablaze by the morning sun, walkways of fine stone, and huge super-plexus worthy of reverence.

But more than that, he had seen in this perfect world a city filled with streets of good people, who walked calmly and lazily about their business, always stopping to excuse one another, then introducing themselves, so that new friends were made day after day.

And above all he had seen the Jedi Temple, home to those god-like travelers, towering like a wall of flame amongst great pillars and statues and monoliths, connected by a maze of bridges, and all rising up and up in a tangle of glory. And he had pictured the robed men and women walking among the people, their robes flapping easily in the gentle breeze.

To an extent, what he had imagined was true enough. But for the most part, his dreams were crushed with every inch they lost to the huge planet.

He knew something about it: the whole planet was urbanized, and the population was just over one trillion- no other planet in the galaxy could boast such a figure. But from space he had imagined it as a living planet, somehow still green and verdant and moving with white clouds. As they hit the atmosphere-, which again was mournfully uninteresting, he wondered at his naivety. Courascant was a black planet, littered with little orange lights. Behind it a pale gray sun wavered in the sky, nothing compared to the great binary star of Tatooine.

Soon the city was in sight. Not great whitewashed towers as Anakin had imagined- rather dull gray or black or blue, all looking very official, as though they had been built with the deliberate intention of being less awe-inspiring than they should have been.

And much of the lower city was out of view completely, for clinging round the centers of the towering skyscrapers was a thin layer of smog. It was just above this that the motorways of the air began, all crisscrossing and looking to be on head on collision as they traveled in what looked like desperation, all with their lights on. It was difficult to see with the endless tons of gas that hid most of the sun's rays most of the time. Overall, it was impressive, but not awe-inspiring, barely respectable.

They descended quickly. Anakin kept looking out for a building something like the one he had thought up, where Qui-Gon and all the others would be sitting and discussing their wisdom. Not a sign of a whitewashed column or marble bridge anywhere.

They landed on one of the great platforms supported by the towering skyscrapers, which together made up an entire city of its own, hundreds of feet off the ground. M'kael put the ship down with the same effortless grace with which they had gone up, and without hesitation made for a very upper-class looking restaurant.

Inside, the people were all dressed in ridiculous- but expensive- clothing. Everyone seemed to be in competition to find the most uncomfortable suit. Anakin, though he felt that he was pretty high ranking in this class, actually managed to feel in place among the crowd in his new clothes.

"What about the Temple…"

"We'll eat first. And if anyone asks, you're my son."

Lighting a death-stick, he picked a table at random and sat with Anakin. No one seemed to notice his casual clothing. In fact, people almost avoided looking at him.

A tall woman, clearly human, came over to serve them. Anakin watched as M'kael's eyes went up to her face, down a little, then back up. Standing with easy fluidity, he circled an arm round her waist and began to talk quietly to her. Anakin watched in mild disgust and mild surprise as she blushed and giggled as they talked in hushed voices for a few moments. Then he took his arm back and she struggled back into a businesslike posture and handed out menus.

Anakin was very conscious of the price (he didn't understand the currency, but nothing had less than three digits), but M'kael told him to just order anything since the Jedi temple would be paying.

They ate in silence. The food was delicious, despite him having to learn how to use the cutlery, but in all honesty he could have had a simple meal like he was used to and enjoyed it almost as much. Furthermore, he continually thought of the Jedi temple, and his mixed excitement and anxiety put him off the food a little.

An hour later, they stood outside the huge entrance to the Jedi temple, its five towers rising high above them, and Anakin felt crestfallen once again. The building was awesomely big, just as most others in Courascant. The central tower rose thousands of feet into the air, giddying an observer with the scale. But it was only imposing. Any majesty it could have had was lost on him.

He recalled the chancellor's private quarters that he had seen as they flew. That curious, mushroom shaped building was the closest he had seen to grandeur.

M'Kael led him swiftly on, leaving him little time to stop to observe the inner buildings. They sped through many rooms, large and small, containing any number of different items, and down a huge corridor, but all that Anakin saw was the same as he had seen from the outside- imposing, but not grand.

Finally, or rather after what seemed an impossibly short interval, they arrived outside a set of polished gray doors. Anakin peered out the huge windows to his right. They were on the very top floor.

Anakin had no fear of heights, but the sensation of being one hundred times higher than he ever had in a human structure momentarily took his breath away.

He glanced around; there were several people wandering about, wearing the robes of the Jedi and making M'kael and himself seem horribly out of place, and several doors to other areas, and a few padded chairs by the window. Otherwise, nothing incredible.

M'Kael turned to him.

"Wait here while I'm inside. You'll find something to amuse yourself."

And without another word he stepped through the gray doors which had opened before him, to join the circle of silent Jedi seated in the council meeting room.

M'Kael was bored. Contrary to most people's beliefs, this was not usually the case.

But for two hours now he had listened to the endless reports, messages, ledgers and documents that was customary in a council meeting.

He sat now with one leg over the fine, padded armrest, completing his tenth death-stick.

Soon he would be allowed to make a "personal request," and then he would be allowed access to the vaults. Then he would leave without listening to another word.

He idly fingered the little computer chip hung by a simple cord around his neck.

Mace Windu, the youngest Jedi ever to reach council member status (at least presumably so, since M'kael's real age was unknown), had finally finished reading a report about a minor skirmish over religion in the lower city. Two Jedi had quickly put it down, without a death.

But it meant nothing.

All through the meeting he had read through the ledgers and reports and infinite documents that flowed into the Jedi temple from the outside world.

They were boring and for the most part immaterial to the Temple's real duties, but it was bared because now and again something important would happen.

And today was one of those days, and Mace, who had flicked through most of the reports beforehand, new the meaning of the single black sheet at the bottom of the stack.

He would have been content to read the mind numbing reports for all eternity if it meant never reaching that single black letter and acknowledging the return of the Jedi's enemies.

Their endless attempts at peace seemed futile.

Now it was the only document left. He hesitated, then picked it up and read it aloud swiftly.

Reports from many sources have brought to out attention a number of deaths. It appears that the body count has reached at least fifty, and is expected to continue to rise at a steady rate.

All the bodies bear grievous wounds consistent with those inflicted by **lightsabers.** Though we do not doubt you're allegiance, and bring no charges against you, we must notify you of the sightings of **black robed **figures near to the murder scenes.

We await a response in due course, and fervently hope that you can come to a valid conclusion as to those responsible for these deaths, and find a way to **terminate** them.

_With respect to your ways,_

_Drudgi-Sen, chief of Courascant security and policing forces." _

Mace leaned back in his chair.

"My only conclusion is this. That the Society of the Black Dawn has re-emerged."

"Impossible," said Ki-Adi-Mundi, "The Black Dawn were wiped out along with the Sith, over a thousand years ago."

"I see no other explanation."

There was a long moment of consideration. Everyone searched for an objection.

Finally, Yoda spoke.

"Correct in his assumption, Master Windu is."

His voice in the council was enough to settle the matter, and the acceptance hung over the council chamber like the smog over Courascant itself.

M'Kael stood up- he had never done so in a meeting before. Or spoken, or voted, or shown any interest whatsoever.

The reminder of his presence was enough to momentarily distract Mace- such a man had no right to sit in the Jedi council.

M'Kael spoke up, at ease but with intention.

"If they have returned, we should go and destroy them.

"What be your plan, M'Kael?" Yoda asked.

"It is obvious. We go in there and kill every Society Member we can find, until there are none left."

Mace couldn't hold his tongue.

"You speak too flippantly over such an issue M'Kael. You should treat such an enemy with respect; and have the intelligence to think through your ideas before discussing them openly. We cannot simply find the Black Dawn. We do not know where they are."

"A concentration of Jedi would definitely draw an attack."

"In which we would be caught off-guard and unawares, and possibly outnumbered."

"So?"

"We cannot afford such a fight," Ki-Adi put in, ever the pragmatist, "our numbers waver as it is. We cannot risk such a venture."

M'Kael seemed unaffected by anything said against him so far.

"That point is irrelevant Ki-Adi. If you were real Jedi you would understand that."

Ki-Adi came from a species strongly opposed to anger, and he was not to lose himself over insults.

"You may accuse me of what you will, M'Kael, but your reasoning is flawed. We lack the strength and the information to take such a gambit."

He leaned back in his seat, his point made.

Mace finally said, "I propose that we wait for further intelligence on this matter."

The proposal was well received.

"Agreed."

"I concur."

"I also agree with this."

One by one, each member agreed to the proposal, as M'Kael stood in the center, expressionless, perhaps still mildly bored. Finally it reached Yoda, who sat to Mace's immediate left.

"I agree… with M'Kael on this matter. Go to battle, we must."

There was stunned silence. Mace leaned forward, made to speak, but failed. M'Kael was the same as ever.

Finally, Mace managed to say very quietly, "it seems, by a vote of overwhelming majority, that the latter proposal has been agreed upon. We wait for further intelligence."

M'Kael frowned slightly. "It seems," he said casually, "that once again, the smallest amongst us has proved that he has the largest brain. And you, Ki-Adi: the size of your head is misleading.

Why do you want to run away? You vote that we cower in our tower while the Society of the Black Dawn are free to kill aimlessly."

"We will make our move when the time is right," said Mace calmly.

M'Kael's voice never altered in pitch or volume, but with every word the power of them increased, "I think we've lost our spine. Hiding in our tower. How can we say we're Jedi?"

"We have no other choice."

"There is always more than one choice. It would just be simpler your way."

And he spun on his heel and made for the door with easy slowness. As he walked, he made sure to glance at each and every Jedi that sat in that circular room. None could meet his eyes.

Suddenly he spun again, his arm flung out; a curved window exploded in a shower of glass.

Mace sprung up- Yoda blasted him back into his seat, and in three long easy strides, M'Kael was at the shattered window.

With one more fluid step and not a moment's hesitation, and with the greatest Jedi alive as witness, he dived into open air and plummeted like a falling angel.

**I don't know what you thought of that. Obviously much longer than most of my chapters. M'Kael seemed a little OOC. **

**R&R. Seriously.**


	7. Yoda's Decision

**If you're out there, remember to R&R. I won't deny I like reviews. They make me happy, for a change. Excuse me for "rewinding time" a little to begin this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. **

M'kael had been wrong. There was nothing to do. Anakin felt hopelessly bored and restricted. The entire grand world that he had thought was to open up before him had suddenly retracted to that one room.

There was no one around. No noise but the barely audible hum of the speeders outside. He paced a bit, examining some of the furniture just as a pastime. But there wasn't a great deal to engage him. Finally he lounged back in the chair, swinging his legs (they were quite high chairs) and whittling the little square gadget he had brought with him.

He was going to give it to Padme.

_Are you an angel?_

He smirked at the thought. If he could possibly have said something more childish, he didn't know what.

But he so liked her…

All at once there was an explosion of sound. The appearance of so much noise into silence made him yelp in shock, and he spun in his chair and looked out the window, still trembling with the suddenness of it.

Dropping, dropping, graceful as a pod in flight, was M'kael, and all about him little slivers of glass sailed, dancing in harmony, little drops of the stars. Anakin could only smile, and actually felt his eyes brighten, to watch that blue-garbed figure become magnificent. It was he decided instantly, the first truly awe-inspiring thing he had seen on Courascant.

It never even occurred to him that he could be dashed to pieces on the ground below. Indeed, he knew he wouldn't be.

Silence.

It was not a stunned silence- for a Jedi master is rarely stunned by anything, and the Council were used to M'kael's unpredictability.

Rather, it was a silence of mutual consent, an easy silence as each of the wise Jedi gathered his or her thoughts, and aligned them coherently enough to be spoken aloud.

Yoda of all knew they should not have been at all surprised with the outcome of the meeting. It took no Jedi skills whatsoever to predict such a reaction: only reasoning and common sense.

The logic was indisputable, born from endless recurrence. Where trial and challenge went, M'kael, the blue-coated figure, was never far behind. It was part of the man's philosophy. His mindset. His very nature.

But was there more to it than that?

The quiet contemplation, pervaded only by the faintest of tinkling as loose glass freed itself from the shattered frame, was broken only as Yoda spoke.

"He was right."

There was a general murmur of surprise. From any other lips, to any other ears, it could have been considered sacrilege, even blasphemy to condone actions such as had just happened at the heart of the Jedi order.

But all of Yoda's words were wisdom, and people had become accustomed to treating them as such.

Then Yoda gave a very great sigh, and all knew that he had a proclamation to make. His heart was never otherwise so heavy, as when he was forced to take command.

Leaning forward, beating his stick a little on the floor, Yoda said:

"He was right to say what he did. In the shadows of our own dogmas, too long have we sat. Revisited, the old prophecies must be."

No one spoke for some time.

Finally Ki-Adi, in his ever-cautionary tone, said, "You know, of course, Yoda, the dangers in this. The old prophecies are written on paper. They are thousands of years old. They will crumble to dust."

"A necessary risk. Changing, the times are. In the newly appearing universe, no place for Jedi, I fear there may be."

He sighed, and tapped his stick on the ground.

"You make very many predictions," said Ki-Adi softly.

"Master Ki-Adi, not predictions." Yoda's voice was heavy with grief. "We all feel it. We all know it. Diminished is our ability to use the force. Blind, we are, to what once was clear."

And he tapped his stick a third time, as if to beat out his own agitation. Jedi live to serve others, not to rule them. So in this he broke his own code.

"Made, my decision is. Revisited, the old prophecies _will_ be. We begin now."

Not a sound, but the slightest shuffle as the council nodded its obedience, one member at a time. That is the nature of the council. What Yoda commands, is done.

In no hurry the Jedi rose, one by one, and slowly filed out of the gray doors. Finally, only Windu remained. As he stood, Yoda patted his stick on the floor again, to get his attention.

"Master Windu," he said, looking up at him from his seat. "We have a guest waiting outside. Perhaps you should see to him."

"Of course, Master. I sensed him also. He is strong in the force."

"Very strong," Yoda agreed, "But, questions, I suspect he will have."

"Of course."

Windu took two back ward steps and spun on his heel. Then he turned back again.

"Master Yoda."

"Hmm?"

Mace closed his eyes, opened them again, then licked his dry lips.

"I know I am strong, Yoda. I do not deny it. But you are the wisest among us."

He steeled himself, and said very quietly, "Are our powers truly diminishing."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because we fear it."

"I have one other question. You agreed with M'kael on this matter. Yet it hasn't been done. I have never seen that before."

"Indeed." Yoda chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Perhaps, diminished is my power also. But, flawless I am not. A mistake, I could have made. Why did you vote against?"

It seemed obvious. "Because it was the best option. Suicide is not a good choice."

"Of course." Yoda sighed, his great long sigh of knowing, "You were accurate in your reasoning, and I wrong, by any man's standards. That is why I did not command it."

"Then why did you vote against us?"

"Because we are Jedi."

M'kael smiled even as he plummeted towards earth. The move had been completely unnecessary. But could he survive a fall of thousands of feet?

As the ground sped up to meet him he turned in the air, which quivered with the power of The Force as it gathered all about him.

The slivers of glass exploded into tinier pieces.

Three hundred feet, two hundred…

Preparing to land, he raised one arm. Thunder rolled for miles around.

One hundred feet, fifty…

The ground met him with terrifying force, then retreated beneath him. The colossal energy of such a landing smashed him two feet into a crater, and his raised left arm swept down to steady him.

All around the ground was ripped asunder.

He didn't pause.

Just minutes later he was in his speeder and cruising, as though he had only jumped out of a tree.

**R&R. **

**I was hoping to include the oncoming action scene (did I just give something away) in this chapter, but oh well. **


	8. Slaughter

**Got a serious action scene in this one; we all know they're hard to write (or is that just me?), so tell me how I do. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. **

If the Society of The Black Dawn had truly returned, there was only one place it could survive. The Squalor. To M'kael, this was obvious- so eccentric an order could never go unnoticed amongst the crowded streets of the New Superplexes.

But the Squalor, many parts of which were hundreds- thousands- of years old, was considered uninhabitable. No food, no fresh water, no nothing for miles around but empty, worn, broken buildings. The planet truly was one city. But some of it was deserted.

The Council instinctively assumed, therefore, that the Black Dawn would not be there, for in their time they had settled for nothing but the most ostentatious luxury.

But these were not their times. The enemy had evolved.

It took him some time to reach the squalor, but he was not paying attention to his speed, which lessened the journey somewhat; and most city dwellers never fully understood how close they lived to such a place. For most, The Squalor was just a name.

It was pitch dark by the time he reached the outskirts. Endlessly wide, the flat, dilapidated grey buildings spread out in all directions. A few speeders flew overhead, but otherwise there was silence. He landed at the first opportunity.

The houses were all empty. Everything was empty. Nothing but peeling plaster and archaic hovels, as far as the eye could see.

He wandered aimlessly, paying no heed to where he was going, or how deeply he was losing himself in the dark, narrow alleys.

But he walked with easy purpose. All doubt, all reason was forgotten. He had come for the Black Dawn. He would find them. The simple hunter's instinct settled easily into place. For how does a Gya bird find its prey in the endless oceans of its home planet? It needn't look: it knows they are there.

Hours passed, but it didn't matter. Time was irrelevant. Consumed by the hunt, every ounce of fatigue vanished away.

He knew he would find them.

And he did find them. Just as certainly as he had known they were there, he had known they would come for him.

The move, ordered by such a cunning adversary, was so ludicrously badly thought out that M'kael laughed aloud even as four black robed figures stepped out to meet him, blocking his path on the wide, broken alley.

He stood facing them in the semi-darkness, their outlines just visible. And doubtless they were watching him.

Like wraiths they stood abreast, slowly fanning out in a half circle.

Flashes of red, and the pale skin of each fierce face shone crimson with the glow of their lightsabers.

M'kael stepped forward, casually, drawing his own blade.

"It's a little late for a stroll isn't it? And why did you choose the Squalor. You must be immigrants."

One of them stepped forward, his raptor's gaze cold and angry.

"You are right, it was a foolish mistake. But our mistake, it seems, has not gone entirely to waste. We have found a Jedi!"

"Now now, Jedi wear robes, don't they?"

"You are flippant, M'kael. Even in the face of death."

"Who sent you?"

"What does it matter to a dead man?"

After the ringing of human voices, the empty silence reoccupied the old alleys, almost with a sound of its own.

Finally M'kael said, "Since you clearly aren't here for conversation, I will retain my questions for later. But for now…"

The blue lightsaber twirled in a half circle. "I think I'll give you what you came for."

The black robed figures stepped forward, closing the gap, sabers held in front of them.

M'kael started at a run.

The gap was closed, suddenly, altogether.

With just feet between them, M'kael threw off his heavy coat in one fluid motion- it billowed out straight into the faces of two of the figures.

And within a saber's reach, with not an inch to spare, M'kael vaulted over the two slashes and dropped into them.

The blades dove up. Twisting in the air, M'kael evaded them again and landed clear.

Spinning, he blocked a wild thrust from his staggered opponent and thundered his fist against the man's jaw. The figure dropped with a sickening crunch of bone. The second blade lanced out- M'kael parried. And again. Three more blows, effortlessly dodged and blocked, and M'kael stepped clear of a wide arc from the blade. His gun leapt to his left hand, and the man dropped without a sound.

The two others finally freed themselves from the cloak, which was cut only to its third layer. All their sinister presence, their fearful demeanour, were gone. They were just men. They were afraid.

The two of them advanced, cautiously, wary of his blaster, coming in slowly from left and right.

M'kael was emotionless.

The third living fighter, whom M'kael had struck, abruptly staggered up. A bead of perspiration had made its way down to his bleeding mouth, and his hood had been thrown back.

He was quite young to be dying by the lightsaber, M'kael thought.

The three of them exchanged nervous glances, as though they were the hunted. For the wolves to be afraid of the stag! But thus was the nature of M'kael, and they knew it.

Again it was M'kael who attacked: ducking under a sweep he came up with his shoulder, knocking his enemy down. Rolling nimbly, he came to his feet as the two rushed forward.

They should have known it was hopeless. They were all skilled. Very skilled. But M'kael was like a god.

They swung blow after deadly blow, but every flash of red was meant by a beam of blue, as M'kael danced between their blows with effortless precision.

Desperate, the two together attacked and attack with every trick and combination they knew, but even when their downed comrade joined the attack, they could make not an inch of headway on M'kael's inhuman defences.

All at once M'kael turned the tid with a ferocious counter attack.

Deflecting a vertical slash, M'kael nimbly flicked his blaster into the air, grabbed the outstretched wrists and pulled him in- right into a skull-rattling head butt. Even as he staggered M'kael hooked his foot round his stumbling ankle and he crashed to the ground.

Pouncing over the form he flung himself at the second, who raised his lightsaber defensibly. Even as he did so M'kael caught his falling blaster and shot him in the head.

The final, desperate Black Dawn member hurled himself forwards as quickly as he was able. M'kael only partially dodged and the blade scraped his arm.

He seemed barely to notice, and soon had his opponent struggling under a maelstrom of blows.

Totally overwhelmed as bluish blades danced and leapt in and out from all directions, he fought vainly on for several seconds, then stopped, standing still, dripping and spurting and running with blood like a red fountain.

M'kael watched silently as the body dropped, cold, still.

Dawn was encroaching, but the early light did little to illuminate the dead and defeated in the little street, the sun shone so faint.

M'kael, the feral thrill of the battle dead, looked around with his familiar expression of mild boredom, and retrieved his cloak.

**I was going to right on from here (because 1000 words is really a bit short) but I decided… I didn't want to. Sorry about that. If you read, seriously, review. Everyone says that, I know, and probably 99 of people don't care, but please… It'll make me happy.**

**So R&R**


	9. Five

**I don't know how it happened but lots of people seem to be convinced M'Kael is a real character in the Star Wars universe. He isn't. I assumed people would know that because he isn't in any of the movies, but clearly my knowledge of Star Wars is not as extensive as some people's. I know I said OOC about him a while back. Ignore that. I don't know why I said that. I might have been drunk. Just ignore it. Seriously. **

**Still undecided on how to spell M'kael/M'Kael's name. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or any of the original characters. Only M'kael is my own invention. **

There were always five. 

Five was the Black Dawn's number; everything that was dealt, to the smallest detail, was dealt in in fives. 

So why had there been four? 

This thought was at the forefront of M'kael's mind as he stood amongst the bodies of the men he had slain. 

And they were all young. Which meant they were also inexperienced. 

As M'kael's mind, sharpened by the thrill of the hunt, raced effortlessly over one point and then the next, taking and categorising them fluidly, his own wounds barely touched his thoughts at all. 

He was vaguely aware that he had been cut twice: once to the arm, and to the stomach. 

Seconds before they had both dripped blood. Now they were scars. Soon they would fade completely.

As the tingling, faintest pain skipped across his mind he smiled involuntarily. He had not always possessed this talent, so he should know better; but its healing presence made him ever increasingly reckless. 

With such a gift on his side, he could destroy an army single-handed; for what could they do against an immortal? 

Or was he immortal? It was a question he almost never considered. He didn't appear to be ageing, but then he had little idea how old he was. And he still didn't know whether he would survive having his head lopped off. 

A muffled stirring hooked his attention back to reality, and he glanced behind him. 

The member he had stunned was struggling to rise. 

In the frenzied euphoria of battle, M'kael had forgotten he had even survived. 

Moving over, his calm, casual gait making him seem almost insane, he approached the Black Dawn member and squatted before him. 

Blood was oozing from the man's- or possibly boy's, for he couldn't have been more than twenty- smashed nose. 

He fought wildly to stand, panicked, as M'kael spoke. 

"So, the Squalor? Rather a step down, isn't it?" 

The terrified man said nothing. 

"Not talkative? No, you rarely are. I'll ask once: Where are you hiding?" 

It was a pointless question, and M'kael humoured himself for asking. Black Dawn members were just men- but their oaths of fealty were cast in bonds stronger than any conscious trauma could snap. A Black Dawn member was held fast to his religion by faith stronger than any Jedi, for the circumstances of their upbringing into the Society, however cultic and obscene, were ruthlessly efficient. 

This man was trembling in terror- but he could confess nothing, even if he had wanted to. The barriers in his mind, formed by a lifetime of ritual, and the primitive drugs used therein, held fast. 

But his eyes flickered. 

That was enough. 

Noting the glance, M'kael whipped his vision behind him, just in time to glimpse the flowing, shadowy form block the first rays of dawn as the fifth member leapt away from a nearby rooftop. 

At that moment the floored Member threw himself up with crazed speed. M'kael's gun came up faster. 

Even as he fired M'kael had spun and leapt. 

The hunt was back on, but this time M'kael had spied the prey. He also knew he wouldn't escape. 

**Sorry for only making this chapter's just a sort of interval but it was the best place to stop before flicking back to the Jedi temple.**

**R&R just to show you've read please. **


	10. Old Prophecies

I haven't based any of the philosophies of this chapter on anything; this is my own story

**I haven't based any of the philosophies of this chapter on anything; this is my own story. Also, bear in mind they aren't all conventional concepts for the Jedi (as you'll discover when you read). Iolis is also not a real character. I have no idea who the first Jedi really was. **

**Basically, I'm making lots of assumptions. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.**

_Jedi are the guardians of peace in the galaxy. _

_Jedi use their powers to defend and protect, never to attack others. _

_Jedi respect all life, in any form. _

_Jedi serve others rather than rule over them, for the good of the galaxy._

_Jedi seek to improve themselves through knowledge and training._

Even as he read the words, his mind echoed them, repeated them automatically, impulsively. For even Yoda, close to 900 years old, had lived through the very same rigorous training routine as every other apprentice throughout those years. This included the continual recital of this simple passage, over and over, until it became a solid block of information, immovable, unforgettable, lodged in the mind.

Before him was this translated version, and the original. It was the oldest document in Jedi history, in verse, written on parchment, in a language that had been dead for eons.

Few understood it. Yoda was one of the few.

He had sat in the sterilised chamber, with this parchment, and the translated version on a computer screen, for three hours, and discovered nothing. Just the same as every translator, and thinker, and intuitive Jedi over the countless millennia of that time. The translation and the original bore no significant differences.

So why was he here?

He couldn't explain what drew him to them; which in itself worried him, for he was perhaps the single wisest creature living.

Enough to say it called to him, not in words but in something more than material or scientific. He surmised that it could be nothing short of the force itself.

Wait!

There was one difference. The original was signed. Staring down upon that spindly, barely legible text, he felt something stirring, for this was the last thing in existence which Iolis, first and wisest of the Jedi order, the greatest prophet ever to live, had touched.

And the restless calling soared upward and vanished. He was as close to the answer as it could guide him.

He had studied every work that Iolis had created in 90 years of the man's sane life, and then the 10 years of his insanity. Sifting through the vast documents in his mind he could find nothing out of place, but then he didn't know what he was looking for.

So, with Ki-Adi Mundi, he descended to the great Temple Library, to read once again every work that the first of their Order had ever written, in the original, very first versions, safely preserved in sterilised rooms.

The old prophecies truly were to be revisited.

Iolis said many great things, but it seemed that, now, only the convenient ones tended to be remembered. He had said a very great deal that the Order now disagreed with. He was the first, but does that make him infallible?

Perhaps not, Yoda considered, but he invented every philosophy that the Jedi based their lives upon. Some, it seemed, were just not worth taking to heart:

_A true Jedi knows that he sacrifices very much, for very little gain. Our achievements are small and often inconsequential, for we fight to protect freedom, which no-one cares for, and peace, which is the hardest state of being of all. Yet the true Jedi is willing to give every ounce of his strength and will into this, which he has chosen to fight for, even if it comes to nought. He could have tried no harder, and that is enough. _

This inconvenient truth was all too often ignored. As he read on, the words simply refreshing themselves in his mind, he began to grow sombre. All around him he saw passion and dedication, from the novice on his first day, until that novice became

someone like Mace or Ki-Adi.

But even these masters denied their sacrifices. They gave up so much, without even realising it.

What was more, the training regime, though still fiercely hard, was becoming gradually easier. It had been decreed necessary some fifty years ago, with the Jedi numbers running steadily lower.

"Necessary?" he had said, "not necessary. Merely desired. But never _necessary_."

But he had allowed it.

Slowly he worked through the a words, losing track of time, all worldly needs receding.

_You are not Jedi merely by wishing to be, but equally any who dons our robes are not made Jedi. It is not a title to be won. It is an ideal. _

For many, these lines had become a central core of their beliefs. Few Jedi truly understood it, however, or else ignored its real meaning. Indeed, it had taken Yoda close to one hundred years in isolation to discover its message, that could be summed up in a single line: You do not become Jedi for you; you sacrifice everything you could have had for others.

_The little things do not make us better men. We do not call ourselves Jedi because we wear the robes and live without wealth or power. Any who feels pride over this is a fool. That is the path he has chosen. He was not forced to bear these things, he accepted them. It cannot be a badge. _

_Emotion is not an enemy. You must learn to calm yourself, to be stoic, unyielding, rational, logical. But sometimes there is reason in madness, because you only do as your crazed mind tells you. Bear in mind, this: I would never have founded our order at all without blind passion- and this is the opposite of reason. _

And then came some of the most controversial lines in the Jedi archives. It was the last document written by Iolis to escape the brand of his insanity. It was so inconceivable, however, that many claimed that he must have been mad already.

_Religion is not the great arbiter of truth. Neither does it decide good and evil. We claim that only the Sith deal in absolutes; but we live in the certainty that we fight for the force of good. How could we know? You cannot simply choose to be good or evil. Every man believes he does right. For us, it is enough that we have chosen a side. Most men never even choose. _

It could only be the work of a madman. What had the Sith ever done, except seek to rule? To slaughter? They were all tyrants, and any life form, anywhere, would agree.

But it didn't help him. It merely augmented his sobriety.

He sat and thought for some time. It was difficult to discover anything, because Iolis' language was so different from those of the modern day, bearing little or no resemblance. Words in these documents could often contain multiple meanings, or affect the meanings of others. Often the only way to tell a sentence's meaning was by trying to guess the tone in which it had been intended to be read.

The old language made no distinction between running in glee and running in terror; it was merely running.

This of all else confused matters, for Iolis' words were cryptic, confusing and often completely antithetical. His clauses often appeared to make no sense together at all, so translation became difficult.

But this was hardly a problem. A sneaking feeling told Yoda, with absolute certainty, that Iolis had known he would peruse his work as he did know, so many millennia later. He would have made it obvious.

There was one thing he hadn't seen.

Ki-Adi was known for his logical thinking. It rarely failed him, and his thoughts and ideas were always rational, conceivable and based on knowledge and reasoning. So he had seen no reason why Yoda had wished to see Iolis' final works, _The Ultimatum._ He had correctly pointed out that it was for the most part the ranting of a madman. Little or none of it bore any substance or grounding in the real world, and much seemed to openly conflict with his previous teachings. Indeed, the name itself dealt an absolute: agree to our terms, or we go to war.

But Yoda had been adamant. Those old, raving writings had been brought before him.

Ki-Adi was right, of course. The Ultimatum was seemed like nonsense from every word after the first paragraph he read:

_We Jedi have forged ourselves a myth. Through our code, and our morals, we have come to believe that we are good men. Why? Our religion does not make us superior. Neither does our order. Indeed, arrogance like this should be for the lesser men. Any who read my work from here on, has come far. _

Occasionally, throughout the long hours, he would stumble upon something that seemed to say something. One line particularly interested him:

_The truest warrior of good will suffer my confliction. _

It seemed to relate to the chosen. But the rest was such rambling that it was difficult to propose that this was any different.

Soon he found himself skim-reading, then flicking pages openly. He glanced at the words, but could see only nonsense, until the last paragraph, which stopped him with impossible force.

_If my powers of prophecy remain sharp, you obviously don't approve. But believe me; he feels more than he sees, and in this way is not blinded by the shroud thrown up around the Jedi order. He shows you the way. You needn't trust him, but, for it all to end well, you must follow his lead._

Flicking back, he began to read the incoherent periphrastic nonsense of _The Ultimatum_. For in the last paragraph he had found a clue so obvious that only the veil of lunacy could conceal it from the trained eye. Knowledge hit him like a hammer blow, momentarily filling every recess of his mind.

**I have my doubts about this chapter. Not a lot happens so I hope it is still interesting enough to read. All the philosophies presented here are pretty important to the story. **

**R&R… Please. **


	11. Dooku

Whoa, it's been a long, long time

**Whoa, it's been a long, long time. Sorry. I was working on my other fanfiction. There you go, there's my excuse.**

**Also, this should be pretty self-explanatory, but the scenes here are also flicking between times- a difference of at least several hours.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars.**

"Hello there. What's your name?"

"Anakin. Who are you?"

"I am Master Jedi Mace Windu. I presume M'kael brought you here?"

"Yes. Was that him who just… leapt out that window?"

"Yes. Insane, isn't he?"

"He is incredible."

"Yes. I suppose he is."

--

M'kael landed, leapt, landed, leapt, maintaining the pace with almost laughable ease. The Member cut suddenly down an alley, then leapt to the building on his right.

M'kael followed him with superb grace, his eyes never leaving his target, senses fiercely acute, reflexes carrying him effortlessly through the chase.

The Black Dawn Member sped on, leaping sharply left, his shadow form flowing through the crescent of the sun as he hit the street, with M'kael not a second behind. Turning down yet another alley he vaulted a pile of rubble from a fallen roof and emerged into a square, at the centre of which stood a great domed building that would have been magnificent in its prime.

Now the white paint was yellowed and peeling, and part of the left side of the dome had caved in.

Pausing, he looked left and right, left and right, then made quickly through the entrance.

M'kael emerged from his hiding place behind the rubble, and followed.

--

"Why did he do it?"

"I honestly don't know. He is capricious by nature. He was also, I believe, looking for a battle."

"Why?"

"He enjoys battle."

"How did he survive falling that far?"

"He used the force. The force can do almost anything."

"He can heal himself can't he? How does he do that?"

"You are a bottomless pit of questions. How did you know his wounds heal?"

"I saw him in a fight, against a man in dark robes."

Mace's eyebrows raised. "He neglected to mention that."

--

Though his gait was casual enough, M'kael's every nerve was alert as he strolled after the black-robed member and into the old temple.

The inside had suffered a similar fate to the outer. The air itself swirled with chalky dust. There was no furniture in the building- it was simply a shell. Doubtless anything of use or value had been removed long ago.

And perhaps, M'kael observed, these items had been taken by the very people who had once worshipped here. Fervent believers in their time, converted to some other religion, or turned atheist.

They could still be alive, somewhere in the galaxy- or their children, or ancestors- still worshipping one God or many, still trusting their faith. Still believing themselves to be right.

Almost like a fashion or a passing trend, it seemed, religion changed with time, ridiculing those that came before it and asserting itself as the new, undeniable truth.

One day, M'kael thought, this will happen to the Jedi. We cannot exist forever.

In the centre of the circular room, partially illuminated by the growing light through the tear in the dome, stood a single figure. Another lay before him.

Jedi master Sifo-Dyas, dead in a pool of blood on the cold, unforgiving floor.

M'kael glanced swiftly round- the last remaining Black-Dawn member stood in the shadows at the back of the room.

M'kael held his calm, easy posture as he addressed the killer.

"Count Dooku?" He gestured at Sifo-Dyas' corpse. "I assume you had nothing to do with this?"

"But of course not."

The two gazed at each other in mutual understanding, silently transferring their equal, irrevocable knowledge, that in that single moment they had become enemies. Dooku's recognition was apparent; until the death, M'kael's pledge was to hunt him wherever he went, and to kill him, in vengeance of Master Sifo-Dyas. In some ways, it almost frightened him.

M'kael broke the standoff in characteristic arrogance; folding his arms, he ambled to the wall, leaned on it, and waited.

After several seconds he sighed. "fine then, I'll at least pretend to be interested. Why did you kill him?"

"A test of faith," Dooku replied simply.

"Don't believe in them. What's the real reason?"

"He was involved in… erasing some bad memories. There are things the Jedi Order don't know about. But if they could trace it to Sifo-Dyas, they could trace it to us. Now he isn't alive. Dead men don't cause problems, you see."

"Trust me, I understand that perfectly well. Why did Sifo-Dyas agree to it?"

"It was _his_ test of faith. Faith in me. He used to be my apprentice."

There was silence as the words sank in.

Finally M'kael rolled his eyes. "Okay, shall we stop playing! I really don't care if you thought- or intended- your thugs to kill me, but if there's one thing the Black Dawn are good at it's _running_. I only traced you here because you wanted it. Why?"

Dooku chuckled. "We are full of questions. Perhaps I just enjoy your company."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"A war is coming, M'kael. You know it. In ten years- possibly less- the republic will tear itself apart."

"Yes, I know this bit," M'kael snapped. "from here the tale goes on, an epic, entrancing drama, no doubt. But you're obviously just paving the way for some grand proposition; so can we jump ahead to that bit, please?"

"No proposition. I just wanted to know which side you intend to be on."

"We'll see, won't we. The winning side?"

Dooku laughed again; the same dry, contemptuous chuckle. "Unfortunately you won't, friend, for you are a Jedi and they _will_ lose. But-"

He swung on his heel.

"If you won't answer, we have no more need to talk. I think I can predict the outcome anyway. See you again, M'kael. And we won't be enemies then, I assure you."

"Oh no." A flash of light and an angry hum announced M'kael's lightsaber blade. "I don't think we'll be meeting again for some time. Unless I also am somehow killed; but I doubt that."

"On the contrary," answered Dooku without stopping, "You may not possess the longevity you believe to. Farewell."

As M'kael made to cut him off the Black Dawn Member sprung forward, thrusting and slashing.

M'kael's fighting instincts flared alive in a millisecond. Dodging a wide slash, he parried a thrust, then deftly rolled his wrist, opening his opponent's throat in a lethal counter.

He spun even as the body crumpled. Of Dooku there was no sign.

The blue coated figure stood alone in the forgotten temple, a fount of blood spraying over him.

**In my opinion, this chapter's not very good. Oh well. Can't always do well. Tell me what you think though. And again, sorry for the long wait. I'll try to be faster next time. **


	12. M'kael returns and leaves

The story will at some point get quite jumpy, because this turns into sort of an addition to the actual storyline

**The story will at some point get quite jumpy, because this turns into sort of an addition to the actual storyline. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars. **

For two days M'kael searched for Dooku among the desolate ruin of the Squalor, relentless. For, though he really knew it was hopeless, he needed time to think on what Dooku had said. And what better way to focus his mind, than to consume it in the sharp, directed vigour of the predator?

So he thought, and he searched.

In turn, he knew, the Black Dawn were following him; he could often detect their shadowy black forms amongst the indifferent grey, but could never get close to them. They were like the rats, that scattered back to their ruins as the blue-coated Jedi silently passed.

He didn't care for their watching him, because he knew they daren't attack. It was the single, and only, thing that everyone knew him for- his ability to kill, and not to die. The Society of Black Dawn was inherently a coward's organisation. For all their philosophies- honour, courage, passion- they were all far too scared to die.

A little, thought M'kael, like the Jedi. _We both were brave, once… _

--

On the third day since M'kael's unexpected exodus from the Temple, Mace sat alone on a simple cushioned stool, rubbing his eyes.

The Jedi council had had precious little time to consider M'kael's departure, or Anakin's arrival, for Yoda had that same day made a statement they had could never have anticipated; and the following proposal had filled him with dread. Quite why it should, more than anything else he had faced, he didn't know- their enemies were all but gone, and the Temple did not face the same peril it had so many times before. Yet the wise Master's words had seemed particularly relevant to him, and perhaps it was true- in the absence of struggle, the Jedi order had lost some of its passion. But with the arrival of Anakin, he felt sure that this was on its way to changing…

Anakin.

He didn't like the boy, though why he shouldn't he had no idea. It could not be envy, of the boy's obvious potential: Mace had long ago learned to master such a primitive emotion.

It was certainly not contempt. Such an emotion was not only primitive but also meaningless, and justifiable in a simple sentence: _No matter who I am, or he is, in one hundred years, or a thousand, we will both be dust… _

Not anxiety; Mace worried surprisingly little, and was confident enough in his own, and the council's, ability to deal with any problem that any one boy or man could produce.

Indeed, it didn't even seem to reach concern. The boy seemed genuinely good-hearted.

But he had been wrong before…

Yoda's words returned to him, haunting.

_I sense much fear in you. _

Mace understood fear, for it was part of a complex web of dangerous emotions that he alone had learned to utilise as part of his own unique fighting style.

Fear is like a fungi. It spreads… and it has a habit of growing.

Closing his eyes, he blotted out all thought, focusing his mind on the forgiving silence all around.

Slowly the worldly matters began to fade away, every emotion passing him by, leaving only a serene emptiness. He felt total Oneness, a state of absolute calm, patiently approaching…

The silent tranquillity shattered with a loud rap on the door, which immediately opened.

Slightly agitated, he opened one eye. He had expected M'kael before he saw him.

The tall blue-coated figure leaned on the frame, holding back an unhappy automatic door with his boot.

Managing to disguise his annoyance, and refusing to be baited into verbal attack, Mace asked, "Was your venture successful?"

"Fairly," M'kael agreed, "I think I scared them a little. Have you seen my young friend Anakin around?"

"He left," Mace replied, "With Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. They're going to Naboo to aid the queen in her battle with the Trade Federation."

M'kael breathed out through his teeth. "Why did you let him go?"

"I have no right to hold him here. Or inclination"

"_I_ do. He's my slave. I own him! You can't just let him wander the universe!"

Mace frowned. "I don't believe we are allowed to own slaves, M'kael. Anyhow, do tell me: What use would could have for a young boy slave? I did not know you were that way inclined…"

"Ah! The legendary Mace Windu humour!" M'kael said sarcastically. "Never pictured you as a comedian for a second!"

"All the same, what use do you have for him?"

"Shut up!" M'kael snapped.

This was the first time Mace had ever seen M'kael genuinely agitated- he could tell easily enough that precious little could penetrate M'kael's unique atmosphere of mild disinterest.

Now seemed a curious time…

"Ah well. The Force has a sense of humour, I suppose." said M'kael suddenly, snapping Mace from his thoughts, "I guess I oughta go after them."

"You will get in the way of the mission," said Mace stiffly.

"And Anakin won't?"

M'kael turned to leave… and stopped. For the briefest second his hand was on his side, and there was the slightest hint of pain written on his features.

Then the boot had released the door, which fled greedily back into place.

And Mace was alone…

**R&R please. If you haven't recently then please review for the last few chapters. Sorry about the continual long waits. Can't guarantee anything. **


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